“You’re serious? She’s your fucking daughter, and he was your husband . . .” I trail off, remembering the two weren’t actually legally married. “She’s hurting, and you’re being a heartless bitch, which is exactly why I won’t leave her here with you. Landon shouldn’t have let you come get her in the first place!”
Carol cocks her head back indignantly. “Let me? She’s my daughter.”
The glass in my hand shakes and the water laps over the side and onto the floor. “Maybe you should act like it, then, and try to be there for her!”
“Be there for her? Who’s here for me?” Her emotionless voice cracks, and I’m shocked when the woman who I was convinced was made of stone crumbles and leans against the counter to keep herself from falling to the floor. Tears roll down her face, which is heavily made-up despite that it’s only five in the morning. “I didn’t see that man for years . . . He left us! He left me after making promise after promise of a good life!” Her hands swipe across the counter, knocking jars of utensils to the floor. “He lied—he lied to me—and he left Tessa and ruined my entire life! I could never even look at another man after Richard Young, and he left us!” she screams.
When she grasps my shoulder and digs her head into my chest, sobbing and screaming, for a flash she looks so much like the girl I love that I can’t bring myself to push her away. Not knowing what else to do, I wrap one arm around her and stay silent.
“I wished for this—I wished he would die,” she admits through her tears. I can hear the shame in her voice. “I used to wait for him, I used to tell myself that he would come back for us. For years I did this, and now that he’s dead, I can’t even pretend anymore.”
We stay this way for a long time, her crying into my chest, telling me in different ways with different words that she hates herself because she’s glad that he’s dead. I can’t find words to comfort this woman, but for the first time since I met her, I can see the broken woman behind the mask.
Chapter twenty-five
TESSA
After a few minutes of sitting with me, Noah gets up, stretches, and says, “I’m going to get you something to drink. You need food, too.”
My fists wrap around his shirt, and I shake my head, begging him not to leave me alone.
He sighs. “You’ll get sick if you don’t eat something soon,” he says, but I know I’ve won the battle. Noah has never been one to hold his ground.
The last thing I want is something to drink or to eat. I only want one thing: for him to leave and never come back.
“I think your mom is giving Hardin an earful.” Noah attempts a smile but fails.
I hear her yelling, and something crashes in the distance, but I refuse to let Noah leave me alone in the room. If I’m left alone, he will come in. That’s what he does, he preys on people when they are at their weakest. Especially me, who has been weak since the day I met him. I lay my head back on my pillow and block out everything—my mother screaming, the deep, accented voice yelling back at her, and even Noah’s comforting whispers in my ear.
I close my eyes and drift between nightmares and reality, trying to decide which is worse.
WHEN I WAKE UP AGAIN, the sun is bright through the thin curtains tacked over the windows. My head is pounding, my mouth is dry, and I’m alone in the room. Noah’s tennis shoes are on the floor, and after a moment of peaceful confusion, the weight of the last twenty hours knocks the breath out of me, and I bury my face in my hands.
He was here. He was here, but Noah and my mother helped—
“Tessa,” his voice says, startling me out of my thoughts.
I want to pretend this is a phantom, but I know it’s not. I can feel his presence here. I refuse to look up at him as I hear him enter the room. Why is he here? Why does he think he can toss me aside, then swoop back in when it’s convenient? That’s not happening anymore. I’ve already lost him and my father, and I don’t need either loss shoved in my face right now.
“Get out,” I say. The sun disappears, hiding behind the clouds. Even the sun doesn’t want to be near him.
When I feel the bed shift under his weight, I hold my ground and try to hide the shiver that passes through me.
“Have some water.” A cold glass is pressed against my hand, but I swat it away. I don’t even flinch when I hear it fall to the floor. “Tess, look at me.” Then his hands are on me—icy, his touch almost foreign—and I jerk away.
As much as I want to crawl into his lap and let him comfort me, I don’t. And I won’t, not ever again. Even with my mind in the place it is now, I know that I won’t ever let him in again. I can’t, and I won’t.
“Here.” Hardin hands me another glass of water, from the bedside table, this one not as cold.
Instinctively I grab it. I don’t know why, but his name echoes in my mind. I didn’t want to hear his name, not in my own head, that’s the only place I am safe from him.
“You’ll drink some water,” he softly demands.
I stay silent as bring the glass to my lips. I don’t have the energy to refuse the water out of spite, and I am beyond thirsty. I finish the entire glass within seconds, my eyes never leaving the wall.
“I know you’re angry at me, but I just want to be here for you,” he lies.
Everything he says is a lie—always has been, always will be. I stay quiet, a low snort coming from my mouth at his claim.
“The way you acted when you saw me last night . . .” he begins. I can feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to look at him. “The way you screamed . . . Tessa, I’ve never felt pain like that—”